


One Night Before Death

by ellenchain



Category: X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Depression, Drugs, Falling In Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Multiple Sclerosis, Partying, Suicide Attempt, They lost the will to live, love at second sight, only to find it in the other person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25674655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellenchain/pseuds/ellenchain
Summary: Charles was diagnosed with multiple sclerorsis 10 years ago. He has been in a wheelchair for a year. His condition is gradually deteriorating, so that he is slowly giving up hope. Since he doesn't want to be a burden on his sister, he decides to spend his last evening in Paris. He books a suite in an expensive hotel and wants to spend the evening alone with good food and whiskey when another guest plays extremely loud metal music. Charles rolls over to his neighbor to complain, only to find out that he also intends to kill himself. In order to give Erik's decision more time, he persuades him to go to a bar together for a last drink. From there they move around the city and find themselves in a wide variety of situations. And the longer the two spend the night together, the further away the thought of death moves ...
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy/Raven | Mystique
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	1. Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> This story is kind of dark and angsty. But I hope I managed to deliver the message of loving life and that there is always an alternative - someone that will love you and will truly miss you if you go. If you struggle with depression or anything else that is taking you down, please never give up. 
> 
> If you need any help - List of Suicide Hotlines: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_suicide_crisis_lines
> 
> Trigger Warnings for this story:  
> \- Suicide Mentioning  
> \- Suicide Attempts  
> \- Drugs (Weed, Alcohol, Cigarettes)  
> \- Violence (Bullying, Fist Fight)
> 
> FYI: All I know about MS is what I read on Wikipedia. If I made any mistake about the illness, I'm sorry and I don't want to offend someone who has MS.  
> Excuse my French.

Tomorrow, he said to himself. Tomorrow everything would finally end. It wasn't that he was looking forward to it. On the contrary, he would have liked to have had a few more years. But with this diagnosis? No, he didn't want to see himself scrapped like that.

Charles was alone at the airport, staring at the departure board. His small suitcase next to him suggested that he would not stay long. He himself looked like he was going to visit his aunt in another state: cloth pants and a cardigan. But his goal was different: Europe. Paris to be precise. Many, many years ago, he had spent a few weeks there as part of an internship for his studies and was fond of remembering the time. Now 20 years had passed and Charles was facing a mental wall. A wall that he hadn't set himself. The diagnosis of multiple sclerosis had completely thrown him off track. Ten years ago, he was told that many patients would still be able to walk even in old age and that only a few would be severely disabled. But now the tables have turned and his condition deteriorated. The shocks came more and more often. In the meantime, what he had hoped for a few months ago would never come: he was in a wheelchair. And the last visit to the doctor did not begin to sound as optimistic as the previous visits.

Charles had no one but his sister, who looked after him very caringly, but she too had a life that was slowly becoming more prominent and put Charles in a smaller light. She had married a few months ago and now wanted to get pregnant. It was a wonderful development and Charles would have loved to see the child. But it filled him with melancholy that his sister had to take care of two children and he didn't want that. The idea that he could go to a home shattered her whenever he came up with it.

"I'm not sending you to a home as if you were a nasty ballast," she had told him in a heated discussion. "You are my brother and I will care for you. No matter what the disease will do to you. I'm here for you."

It had brought Charles to tears, but his emotional outburst hadn't made the situation any better. Raven soothed him, embraced him and finally gave him his medication. She was ready to align her life with him, but Charles didn't want that. The disease not only restricted Charles to one place, but also Raven. No matter where she wanted to go: she couldn't, because her disabled brother could get a schock and die from it if she wasn't there. And that would ruin her life - she'd said that before.

"If you die because I was drinking in a bar somewhere ... God, Charles, I could never forgive myself."

Her husband, Hank, was as understanding as his sister herself. The two looked after him with such dedication. Charles hated himself for it. He didn't want to burden anyone. The young couple should be happy and not troubled by guilt because their adopted adult child was confined to a wheelchair and would likely become a vegetable in the foreseeable future.

So after many empty whiskey bottles, Charles decided on the only way that would release everyone involved from the MS curse: death. Charles had never been suicidal. Maybe a little depressed, but who hadn't been at some point in their life? An illness that was not curable and that eventually took everything away does things to you. Charles had had enough of it.

He had packed his suitcase and a number of sleeping pills that he had ordered illegally from the Internet. Raven would get a long letter apologizing and wishing her all the best. It was not fair that he ran away quietly and secretly to kill himself after his sister did everything in her power to keep him alive. But what would such a conversation have looked like if she hadn't even allowed him to go to an asylum? Of course, she would have been against it and would have preferred to keep him alive for years to come. Charles is putting an end to this now. And be young one last time. In Paris. That was his last wish.

After he checked in his suitcase and the airport staff pushed him through the aisles, he was finally in first class and could forget for a moment that the journey so far was a burden for everyone involved already. The stewardess looked at him with pity, the child in the front row and the mechanic on the tarmac. Everyone had to make extra space. Put their luggage down just so that his makeshift wheelchair fits anywhere. It was silly that Charles was so ashamed to be in a wheelchair when so many people in the world couldn't walk. He didn't know where it came from. This low self-worth. Perhaps because he had generally not achieved so much in his life. No family, no partner, not even a dog. All alone. He graduated from university, got a doctorate, then a professor. Opened his own school because that was his dream at the time. Worked to death and in the end came the reward in the form of a destructive diagnosis. He had to quit school and eventually lived on savings. This diagnose affected so many people in the world. People who had far more to lose than him. Young people who had their whole lives ahead of them. Well, Charles had just turned 40 himself. But the last ten years since the diagnosis had felt like a lifetime.

As Charles looked out the window and watched the clouds, he sipped his champagne. Be decadent one last time and let yourself go. An expensive suite was waiting for him in Paris, in which he would enjoy room service and a minibar.

When he arrived in Paris, of course, several people had to help him again. He was pushed through the airport and asked several times if he would be picked up. Every time he said "no", the faces curled up in a sad expression, which more than clearly stated: " _Who leaves the poor sausage here alone? So inhumane_."

But the taxi driver was nice and easily hoisted Charles’s suitcase and wheelchair into the trunk. He talked to him in a very friendly way and only mentioned this one sentence once that "he makes such a long trip all by himself is astonishing".

Once at the hotel, he was treated like the princess and the pea. The concierge thanked him very much for his tip and Charles could practice his French a little. Apparently, he wasn't as good as he thought because everyone switched back to English. Charles tried not to give it any further importance.

The room was really big and even had a full kitchen. Charles could barely look at the counter, but he wasn't going to cook anyway. Instead, he unpacked his pills and neatly placed them on the bedside table. Then he put on comfortable pants and a T-shirt and sat on the large couch. The sun was slowly setting so that he could watch the sunset. Through the half-open window, he heard the street below him. While sitting there watching the sky, he thought of all the wonderful moments he had had in Paris back then. He actually wanted to go out again and visit the bars he had visited so many years ago, but he knew that the reality would be different than what he had in mind. Those old bars he was in were probably no more. And even if: none of them were wheelchair accessible. Narrow and small, with lots of chairs and tables. He would only be annoyed or sadly roll back to the hotel. So he saved himself the effort and sank into his thoughts, where he remembered the beautiful blonde girl. Or the cute bartender. The many beds he had seen. The many hotel carpets he had his face pressed into. Drunk and high. That was life. That was what had filled him then. And he liked to remember it back.

At 6:00 p.m. he ordered something to eat. The concierge thanked him again for the generous tip and even helped him put everything in front of the couch so that he could eat from there. In the meantime the sun had set and the glittering lights of the city illuminated his dimmed room. Slowly he ate his salmon and drank the expensive wine. When he felt the loneliness coming, he rolled over to the minibar - which wasn't that mini - and poured himself a generous glass of whiskey, which he immediately tipped down with two sips.

Just as he was about to pour himself a new glass, he heard a muffled noise from next door. It happened as quickly as it came, so Charles stopped paying attention to the incident when the noise suddenly came again. It sounded like a loud bass at regular intervals.

"Seriously? Who is listening to music here so loudly?” Charles murmured into his empty room and filled his glass at the same time. For the time being, he stayed in his wheelchair and considered whether he should say anything. But who knows who heard music so loudly? Maybe an aggressive, drunk guy who would love to push Charles down the stairs. So he heaved himself back onto his couch and switched on the television. He had hoped to drown out the music, but the more time passed, the louder the volume from the neighbour got. At one point Charles could even hear a voice. Probably the singer who was just growling into the microphone. Clearly Metal.

Usually Charles had an angelic patience. But his last night was definitely different. In peace. For himself. Alone. In order to be able to close properly with life and all other things. Instead, he now had to listen to terrible screams and hard guitar riffs.

After an hour, Charles had enough. He heaved himself onto his wheelchair, grabbed his cell phone - just in case - and rolled into the hallway. It wasn't long before he had identified the room from which the loud music came. The hallway did not seem to be inhabited otherwise, or else someone would have complained long ago. Or was Charles not as patient as he always thought?

A bit nervous, but also with a lot of anger, he knocked on the door. When nothing happened after 30 seconds, Charles knocked again, this time harder.

Suddenly the door opened. A brunette man his age glared at him. The loud metal music came out of the room like a bad omen that Charles should disappear. Because exactly this aura was sprayed by the not very friendly looking guy.

"Quoi?" He asked irritably and leaned a hand on the door frame.

"Uh, yes, good evening," Charles began in his typical British manner and cleared his throat for a moment. "Could you maybe turn down the music, please? I can hear it up to my room."

The man pressed his lips together and snorted tightly. Of course, this unsettled Charles, so he immediately raised both hands.

"Uh, Je ne parle pas très bien le français ...? Comprenez-vous l’anglais?” He tried in his rusty French, but the man immediately shook his head.

"Sure, I understand English," he said without any accent and sighed. "Listen, I need that, okay? It's an important evening for me."

"For me too," said Charles, swallowing a huge lump. "It's kind of my last evening ... here."

That made the man smile. He already seemed a bit drunk. "Your last evening? Here in Paris? Then go to the bar and celebrate something. Until you get back, I'm calm. Promised."

Charles didn't quite know how to continue the conversation. He didn't want to go to the bar - he wanted to swallow the pills afterwards, lie down in bed and close his eyes forever. Not more. But of course he didn't want to tell this wild-strange man, so another excuse had to be found.

"I am very tired and would like to go to sleep. So ... just a little quieter, please? "

The man rolled his eyes. "Let's say 15 minutes, okay? I am fast."

Before Charles could sigh, he saw the man stagger. He didn't seem to be quite as accountable anymore. Charles’s empathy kicked in and he watched his neighbour. "What are you quick at?"

As he asked, he eyed the room behind the man. Several bottles were on the floor. The television was on and playing the loud music. The light was on in the bathroom.

"Nothing that concerns you," the man murmured, grinning sadly. "Just go. You can give me 15 minutes, right?”

But Charles didn't move an inch. "Is there someone ... still in the room with you? Is the person okay?” He asked, panicking and searching the room with his eyes for another person. What if he needed the music to hide killing sounds? Charles started to panic and immediately pulled out his cell phone.

But the man suddenly reached aggressively for Charles’s hand, who was already holding the phone.

"There is nobody else in the room. Just me,” he began to hiss. "Check it out for yourself if you want. But I would advise you to just go back to your room and not to stick your nose in foreign matters."

Charles didn't know what to do. His heart was pounding wildly. "I ... I'll get the hotel staff ... or call the police right away."

The man hissed loudly as if he felt pain inside. He rolled his eyes again and finally let Charles hand down. "Why?" He asked, suddenly rubbing his temple. "Why can't even that work?"

He seemed to speak more to himself than to Charles.

"Listen ...," he started again and sighed annoyed. He swayed slightly and reached for the door frame. "I just want to take a bath in this bathtub," he showed to his bathroom, which Charles couldn't see properly, "sit down and do my thing in peace, yes? Call the hotel staff, the police or the entire civil service. I'm only asking you for 15 minutes. Can you give those to me? It is also my last evening in Paris."

The words were so heavy in the air that Charles felt choked at that very moment. It was only when the man opened his mouth to say something that Charles found his breath again: "You want to kill yourself?"

Suddenly his neighbour’s eyes went cloudy and his lips formed a straight line. Charles continued to search for words and found none.

"15 minutes. Nothing more,“ the man repeated very quietly. "Can you give them to me?"

"Of course not!" Charles suddenly yelled very convincingly and reached for his wheelchair to roll into the room. "Y-You should get help! Can we call someone? I’ll call the police, you shouldn't be alone here!"

The man immediately grabbed Charles’s cell phone and snatched it from him. And what could a wheelchair user do here?

"Who do you think you are that you are playing life coach here?" The man called contemptuously and blocked Charles’s way into his room.

"I know a lot," countered Charles, not knowing why he was fighting for another man's life when he was about to commit suicide himself. But somehow it felt wrong to let the man take a bath in the bathtub to ... yes, to do what?

"You don't know the circumstances why a man wants to take his life, so go back to your room and leave me the fuck alone!"

Charles didn't give up and even rammed the man on the shin with his footrest to get into the room. His neighbour swore briefly and actually took a step back. At that moment, Charles rolled in completely and closed the door behind him. "I know exactly those circumstances that makes you want to take your own life," he said in a shaky voice. Maybe it was the two glasses of whiskey, the openness of the man, or just the despair that spoke of him when he said, "I'm here to finish it, too."

Just as the man's words had an effect on Charles, so his probably had the same effect on the man. Oppressive. Somehow wrong.

But instead of panicking like Charles did, a sad smile formed on his lips. A dark giggle followed. He rubbed his hair resignedly. "Are you here to kill yourself? Wow, what a coincidence. You know what's about to come. Then why are you stopping me? Go back to your room and end it. And let me do my thing."

Charles had to swallow. He blinked a few times and ran his tongue over his dry lips. Charles was taken aback by the fact that the man simply sent him to his death. A huge load of hatred had to sit behind this mind that he didn't care about the lives of others. "You ... Why do you want to kill yourself? Is there no way out?"

 _Wow, what a dumb question_ , _Charles_ – he thought. The man just shook his head and continued to smile as he strode across the room with Charles’s smartphone. "That's none of your business."

"Okay, but is there a way out?"

"If there was one, would I have made that decision?"

"Touché," murmured Charles, reaching for his wheelchair. A suicidal person was not particularly good at preventing another suicidal person from committing suicide. He looked sadly at the ground and blinked away the dampness in his eyes.

The man had almost gone to the middle of the room that looked exactly like Charles’s. The hotel room was constructed exactly the same. The music was still booming at full volume. A few seconds passed in which the man swayed and Charles tried to find a solution. But he realized that if he intended to do the same, he was in no position to prevent anyone else from committing suicide.

Finally the man sighed loudly and reached for the remote control to turn the music down. It was still too loud for Charles’s taste, but probably could no longer be heard three rooms away.

"Why do you want to kill yourself?" The man asked quietly and sat down on an armchair.

Charles still stood by the door, uncomfortably touched, and played with his fingernails. "I'm sick."

"Cancer?" Asked the man, quite unimpressed.

"Multiple sclerosis," Charles replied, gesturing on his broken legs. "I quickly becoming dependent on care. And I do not want that."

The man looked down briefly as if he was thinking about what Charles just said. "So you want to step down with dignity."

"You could say so…"

"Then we can kill ourselves together."

"God forbid, _no_ ," Charles breathed in horror. He looked around the room again. The man seemed extremely depressed and didn't let himself be talked to. "Is there anyone we can call? Family? Friends? "

"No," came the short answer. It took a few minutes for the man to look up again. "What's your name?"

"Charles. Charles Francis Xavier. "

"What a stupid name. Sorry,” the man laughed, scratching his neck. "Why Paris, Charles? You obviously don't come from here. So there must be a reason why you are looking for death in France of all places.”

Charles wanted to know the stranger's name first, but he politely answered the question. As best as he could. "I used to live here for a while. And it was a really great time. I wanted to see the city again, which gave me such wonderful memories.”

The man blinked a few times. "And you spend your last hours in a hotel room? Alone?” He sounded as if he couldn't believe his own words.

Even Charles had to let that sink in for a moment. He laughed nervously. "I'm in a wheelchair," he said, as if it weren't obvious. “Most bars are not designed for wheelchair users. Besides, I would just sit sadly in some corner and drink my cocktail while the people around me have fun. That would destroy the beautiful memory I have from back then ... I think."

For a brief moment the man laughed and dropped into an armchair. "But not even the hotel bar?"

Charles wanted to answer that he was very happy with the whiskey from the minibar, so he paused once more and looked into the man's face. The smile he wore didn’t reach his eyes. "You want to get rid of me," said Charles, returning the friendly but not honest smile.

The man slowly dropped the corners of his mouth. "You’re besieging my hotel room to keep me from doing something you want to do yourself." Then he folded his hands and put them on his very flat stomach. “We can sit here all night and have a chat if that helps you. But as soon as you close your eyes, I'll go. "

Charles pressed his lips together. His smile became more and more difficult to keep up. "You really mean it."

"Aren't you?"

"Yes ...," breathed Charles and released resigned air from his nose. His eyes went down again. Then the smile came back. "Would you like to go to the hotel bar with me?"

"You don't give up, do you?"

"No," said Charles as convincingly as he could. "And if I can only postpone your decision for a few hours, I've already achieved a lot."

The man sighed and looked up at the ceiling as if considering the proposition. So Charles tried to convince him further: “You are wondering why I am not reliving my beautiful memories in Paris. I told you because I'm alone and in a wheelchair. I won't be able to change that I'm in a wheelchair, but ... I can change that I'm alone. Have a drink with me at the hotel bar. Give me some of your precious time. After that ... I'll give you your 15 minutes."

The last part cost Charles a lot of effort because it meant negligent homicide. The whole subject was somehow more difficult than expected - when he was so sure of his own death just a few minutes ago.

The man snorted again and finally dropped his head to the side. He stared wide-eyed at Charles for a few moments. "All right, Charles. I'm slowly sobering up anyway. Let's go out for a drink."

Then he got up and picked up Charles’s phone, which he still had in his hand. "But this remains with me for now. If you let anyone know what I'm up to in the bar downstairs ... I'll do the same for you."

Charles giggled. "You threaten me? But that's not a good start for a drink together.”

"Just that you know," the man said with a smile and put on a leather jacket. He looked extremely good for his age; Charles had to admit. Sporty. Wiry. But the depression had left its mark on his face: many wrinkles framed his otherwise attractive face and made him look older than he probably was.

With a few clicks on the remote, the man turned off the music and pocketed his wallet.

“I would also like to quickly get another jacket. You come with me,” said Charles, turning his wheelchair towards the door.

"All right," the man murmured, opening the door for Charles. Together they walked only a few meters across the aisle until they reached Charles’s room.

"What's your name by the way?" Asked Charles as he rolled into his room and picked up his jacket. A normal fabric jacket - not even close as cool as that of his neighbour.

"Erik," the man answered tonelessly, looking around the room. "Erik Lehnsherr."

"Oh, that doesn't sound very French," said Charles, quickly changing his shoes. "Where are you from?"

Erik went to the bedside table and picked up a pack of sleeping pills. "Germany."

Actually, Charles would have liked to ask what he was in Paris for, but the sight of a strange man examining his murder weapon, knowing what he was going to do, made his words stuck in his throat. Erik turned the pack several times in his hands until he finally put it down.

"You know that you can throw up quickly after taking just enough pills? And then your plan is ruined. You don't have enough with you for a second round. Or are there more in the case?"

Charles switched his gaze between the pills and Erik several times. "Have you had any experience with this?"

"With pills? Yes,” Erik replied coolly. "But it didn't work because my stomach was pumped out in the hospital."

"And they just let you go?"

"I discharged myself," he said as casually as possible. "Good luck with your project. Maybe it will work for you. "

"You're pretty macabre, Erik."

That made him smile. "Don't you have to be? In a situation like this?"

"Not really," said Charles, rolling past Erik to open the room door on his own. "I don't see death as fate, but simply as ... relief. For everyone around me."

"A very positive attitude for someone who wants to overdose of sleeping pills after this."

Charles didn't answer, just rolled over to the elevator. Together they drove wordlessly to the ground floor, where they went to the hotel bar. But before they even came near the entrance, a hotel employee came to meet them.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but the hotel bar closes at 10 p.m.."

Both men looked at the signs hanging from the entrance in surprise. "That’s in half an hour."

“That's right, you may sit down, but you will no longer be served. The bar itself was already closed at 9pm.”

"Wow, what a great hotel bar," Erik said mockingly, raising both eyebrows.

“We would be happy to bring the drinks to your room. Our guests prefer this service to the traditional bar.”

Before Charles could say anything, Erik countered in a harsh tone: “No, thanks. We want to go to a bar. "

With that he turned his back on the hotel employee and strolled into the foyer towards the exit. Charles cleared his throat, thanked the gentleman and wished him a nice evening. He quickly rolled after Erik, who was already on the street to light a cigarette.

"I don't know my way around here," said Charles when he was also on the street. "Do you know a good bar?"

Erik shook his head. "No, but I’m sure they know that over there," Erik replied, pointing to a small group of teenagers standing on the other side of the street, clearly talking, a bit tipsy.

"Erik," Charles called after the man who was already crossing the street. He watched his neighbour speak to the group of teenagers who looked at him mockingly but then gestured wildly in the area. They pointed down the street Charles automatically looked into. In fact, from a distance, he saw some glowing signs that might indicate taverns or bars. Erik came back a few seconds later.

“Two streets away there is a bar that is said to be wheelchair accessible. At least big enough for a wheelchair, according to the people there.”

"Thank you ... that sounds good," Charles nodded and tried to smile.

Together they walked down the dark street until they came to a crossing. From far away they could see neon signs and a somewhat livelier scene. Without saying a word, they went to a bar where a lot of people were standing and smoking. Erik had already lit the second cigarette, which he quickly smoked up.

As always, Charles was looked at with self-pity. The people around him literally jumped aside to make room for him. As if he had an infectious disease.

The bar itself was dark and loud. It smelled a bit stuffy and the people stood tightly packed around each other.

"You look like you're not feeling well," Erik remarked correctly, raising both eyebrows. "Do you want to go again?"

Both had to shout to understand each other. Charles immediately shook his head. "No, it's exactly how I remembered it. Just… different.” He gestured to his legs.

Erik said nothing at first, but pushed Charles to the bar without asking. Of course, it was equipped with high chairs so that Charles could not even look at the bar. Erik quickly recognized the mistake and pushed Charles in a different direction where a small table had just become free.

"What do you want?" Erik asked and leaned down to Charles.

Somewhat surprised, Charles initially ordered a long drink. Erik just nodded and left before Charles could give him money. While sitting alone at the table and seeing all the young people standing or sitting in small groups, he realized for the first time what he was doing. Going out. Partying.

Panic quickly washed over him: had he taken his medication with him? What if he got one of his shocks? It was always an unsafe thing with alcohol. Would Erik know what to do? Probably not.

But when he saw his neighbour come back with a tray that had several glasses on it, he remembered why they were here. It didn't matter what happened. That was their least meal. Consisting of several shots and long drinks.

"You want us to go into a coma?" Asked Charles playfully as he examined Erik's well-intentioned deed. He put the tray on the table and didn't even bother to take the glasses down. He simply pushed the exact same amount of glasses in front of everyone.

"Why? Do you have such a low tolerance?” He asked friskily, smiling at Charles.

"No, not really, but ...", he gestured to the alcohol and then didn't know what to say.

Erik meanwhile picked up a shot glass and clinked glasses with Charles. "Cheers."

"Cheers," Charles smiled, throwing the alcohol down his throat. It was obviously tequila.

"You’re really not very self-destructive," Erik finally said, leaning back a little while already holding the second shot glass in his hands. He looked stressed. As if he was going to have another important appointment in a few minutes.

Which he basically had.

“I drank for months and not only presented my body with a lot of challenges, but also my sister. At some point I reduced the drinking habit a bit. But ... actually I was very self-destructive."

“Wouldn’t have noticed. You look very responsible, Charles,” Erik chuckled and drank his third shot glass as if it was water. Charles struggled to keep up. "How long have you been in a wheelchair?"

The question came as a surprise. "For one year."

"That’s not that long," remarked Erik, leaning on the somewhat sticky table. Neither of them had taken off their jacket. Somehow the whole adventure seemed very uncomfortable. Not at all like it was years ago, Charles had to admit. But maybe it felt different because he didn’t have a dying wish back then.

"I'm still having trouble with it ..." Charles mumbled, not sure if Erik understood everything at all. He drank the rest of his shot glasses, like Erik, and finally sipped his long drink. The alcohol started to work slowly. His head throbbed and his vision slowly blurred. Because Erik didn't say anything, just looked sadly into his glass, Charles tried to cheer up the situation. If that was possible at all.

"Why are you in Paris? If you actually come from Germany?"

Erik looked up immediately and looked into Charles’s eyes for a moment before deciding to answer. “I also associate beautiful memories with this place. That's why I came back here."

"Which? Maybe we can also fulfil one last wish for you? "

But the question backfired. Erik's gaze immediately became sombre and he visibly distanced himself from Charles by sliding a few inches back. "No, not necessary. I just want to get it over with.”

Charles pressed his lips together. He drummed his fingertips on the table. Then he saw a group of young people go out of the bar - their cigarettes already in their hands.

"You smoke," said Charles excitedly, and could have slapped himself for the stupid remark.

Erik raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I haven't smoked a cigarette in ages. Let's go out and smoke too. I'll get a box from the machine,” he pointed to a glowing box near the stairs to the toilet. "After that, I'll get the second round of drinks. You already paid this one here."

But somehow Erik didn't let the euphoria get him as if Charles’s idea was kind of dumb. He shrugged one shoulder and nodded silently. They took their last glass outside, where a number of people looked at them pityingly again. Charles was no longer sure whether they were looking at Charles or Erik, who was standing next to him like a mourning heap. With increasing alcohol levels, depression also came back.

Charles opened his cigarette packet anyway and pulled out a cigarette with shaky fingers. He stuck it between his lips and before he could ask if Erik could light it for him, the Zippo was already lit in front of his nose.

"Thank you," he muttered, lighting his cigarette. Erik closed the zippo as the stem burned.

The first drag was terrible and Charles coughed like crazy. That actually made Erik smile. "Have you ever smoked in your life?"

"Over 20 years ago," Charles laughed, blowing the rest of the smoke out of his lungs like a rookie. "And even back then... I move to other things you can smoke."

That made Erik's eyebrows shoot up. "Marijuana?"

Charles nodded as he ventured on a second drag. It burned like fire in his lungs, but it felt good somehow. For a moment he thought that he still wouldn't want to start smoking because Raven didn't like the smell. Then he remembered that it was a wasted thought.

"I've never smoked weed," Erik admitted, smoking his own cigarette much faster than Charles.

"Never?" He repeated and laughed. "How so?"

"I was a decent man," said Erik, as if expressing that there was a time without his excessive drinking.

"Do you want to try it out? I'm sure we'll find something somewhere.”

Usually Charles didn't prod anyone on drugs. On the contrary. He once owned a school. Drugs, alcohol and cigarettes: these were all things that he had strictly prohibited. For good reason. He had been a victim of these vices for a very long time. These desires came back with the diagnosis. And somehow smoking a joint was exactly what he wanted to do.

Erik looked a little unsure to the floor and lit another cigarette. "Is this an attempt to keep me calm?"

"No, no," laughed Charles, and was glad that he was sitting. The nicotine and alcohol kicked in at once. "Most of the time you are just relaxed and laugh a lot."

“That doesn't sound very appropriate to the situation.”

“That sounds very appropriate. Come on, I'll get the drugs and ask where you can get something good to eat. Because believe me when I tell you that smoking makes you hungry.”

Erik still didn't seem convinced, but didn't stop Charles from rolling over to another group and asking them about weed.

It actually took less than 20 minutes for Charles to come back with a small package. With two joints in it.

“Since we don't have any papers and filters, the man was so nice and already rolled it for us. Nice, isn't it?” Charles grin was as wide as if he had already taken a good drag of something.

“Very nice,” Erik mumbled and looked sceptically at the bag. "I was told that there are good tacos down the street. Alternatively, good burgers in the same direction.”

“Perfect, Erik. Let's get tacos and burgers.”

Charles rolled ahead.

"Both?" Erik asked, trying to keep up. He couldn't cover up the effects of the alcohol very well while walking. He swayed a lot.

Eventually they got a big bag full of burgers and fries and a big bag with all kinds of tacos.

"Actually, we just wanted to have a drink and now we're on our way to take drugs and get diabetes," Erik joked in a very sarcastic tone.

"It's the last night, Erik. Let's enjoy it,” said Charles, smiling at Erik as best he could.

"You don't want to stop me anymore?" Smiled Erik arrogantly, swinging the bags with their food around in the air.

"No, I still want you to overthink your decision" Charles smiled, looking into the distance as he rolled over the sidewalk.

"Don't think I'm going to stop you."

"I don't expect that, Erik."

They passed a small city park, where they sat on a bench. Erik confidently pushed Charles over the gravel.

"You are strong," commented Charles as he sat on the bench. "My sister always has problems pushing me over stones or sand."

Erik also sat on the bench with a little distance. "It would be kind of sad if I were weaker than your sister. No offense. Unless she's a bodybuilder."

That made Charles laugh softly. "No, she's not a bodybuilder. Even though she had been taking Krav Maga lessons for years.” He slowly took the clear plastic bag out of his jacket pocket and played with it a bit without unpacking the joints. Lost in thought, he looked at his fingers. "She is a kindergarten teacher. Has a heart for children. That's why she now wants to be a mum, which I really welcome. She and her husband Hank are a dream couple. They will take good care of the child."

Erik became very quiet. He just looked into the darkness of the park and had his hands clasped in his lap. Charles watched the man for a while. His gaze was not returned.

"Do you have family?" Charles asked very quietly and was again not sure if Erik had heard him because he didn't answer immediately.

"Yes," he finally said shortly.

"Where are they?"

"Not here."

Erik's gaze went straight ahead and Charles realized that he didn't want to talk about it.

"I never had a family," Charles finally murmured, playing with the bag's closure. "Somehow never happened. The work took up so much time that I never had the opportunity to look for a partner. Well and then the diagnosis came.” He laughed sadly. "And who wants to be with a cripple with an expiration date?"

"We all have an expiry date," grumbled Erik without looking to Charles. "To scorn someone about it is pitiful."

The mood was slipping again and Charles wondered why he had started his life story in the first place. The man had such a distant aura that Charles couldn't help but tell of himself to enlighten the mood. Things he wouldn't tell a stranger like that. And yet he did.

"Do we want so start? Before the food gets cold,” joked Charles and finally opened the sachet, which he had been holding in his hands all the time. "We can light up only one joint at first. Maybe you don't like it at all. Then we don’t have to waste a second one."

"I'm sure I won't like it," Erik said suddenly, causing Charles to flinch.

"Really? How so?"

"I don't like losing control."

Charles blinked a few times in the direction of the man, then raised his eyebrows. "Erik, we just had several shots and long drinks. I'm pretty tiddly."

That made Erik groan. "Just turn the crap on." He held out his Zippo to Charles.

"I know you want to end this night as soon as possible. And I am very grateful to you for having a drink with me. You even smoke a joint with me. And you’ll probably be sitting here with me a little longer until we decide to go back to the hotel,” Charles began, sticking the joint between his lips and lighting it carefully. He took a long drag and closed his eyes. When he blew out the smoke, he added: “Really, thanks, Erik. I never thought that the evening would end like this."

"Neither did I," Erik breathed softly.

Charles held out the joint. "I think it's a funny coincidence that we met. Two men who want to commit suicide. In Paris, although none of us come from France."

"Funny?" Erik asked and stuck the joint between his lips to skilfully pull on it. Charles would never have believed Erik that this was his first experience of weed if he hadn't seen his neighbour smoke half a box of cigarettes since they were out.

On the second drag, Charles felt the slight dizziness. "You know what I mean. Funny. Strange. Somehow ... fate."

"So far I'm not sure if it was such a good idea ..." Erik murmured and also pulled on the joint again. He didn't complain that he didn't like the dizziness, so Charles figured the second joint would definitely follow.

"A good idea to go with me? I didn't force you!"

"Yes, actually, you kind of did", Erik clarified and passed the joint on again. "You besieged my room. And you'd probably have thrown yourself between me and my razor blade. Above all, we don't know each other at all. "

That made Charles swallow. Because, yes, he probably would have thrown himself between an unknown man and a razor blade to save a life. And at the same time, he wanted to throw his life away. "We know each other now."

"No, we don't." Erik's gaze went into the distance again.

Charles slid a bit down on the park bench. "I see you are not interested in us getting to know each other."

"I want to die, Charles. I don't have to make a friendship shortly before I do it. You won't be my saviour. Or my knight on the white horse."

"More like a white wheelchair in my case," chuckled Charles, and immediately put his hand over his mouth. Somehow the weed didn't work for Erik, but all the more for Charles.

"I don't need any help," Erik said suddenly very seriously and flicked the almost finished joint to the floor.

"Sure?" Charles grinned and he knew his smile wasn't going do well at the moment. “You made a lot of noise for someone who wants to kill himself alone. As if you wanted someone to come ... I mean - who wouldn't complain about the music you played at a deafening volume? Didn't you just wait for someone like me to come over? Who helps you?"

Erik looked at Charles as if he'd just thrown the worst word in the world at him. That softened Charles’s grin immediately.

"Okay, that's it," Erik said suddenly, standing up. He staggered an uncoordinated step forward, but was able to catch himself before falling over. "I don't have to get therapy advice from someone who is just as determined to commit suicide as me."

"W-where are you going? Erik, I didn't mean it, it was just a guess!“ Charles started nervously and supported himself on the park bench with his hands. But Erik was already leaving.

"I'm not a babysitter. Bye, Charles."

"Erik! I'm sorry!” He called afterwards and saw Erik's silhouette disappearing until he finally vanished into the dark.

Charles sighed loudly and dropped his head back. The effect of the joint continued and the tree tops turned wildly. He put the bag with the other joint back into his jacket. "Fuck" was all he said while thinking about what he had actually said. And why it had hit Erik so deeply.

When he realized that the man, he was having a drink with, would just step into a bathtub to take his own life, the tears gathered on Charles’s lid. The tears fell silently down his cheek and he wondered why he had failed to help the poor man.

Why he was unable to help himself.

He didn't know how much time had passed when a group of men suddenly passed him. Big, strong men. In bomber jackets. Bald. The kind of people you didn't want to have around you. Especially not at night. Alone.

They spoke French loudly and finally pointed to Charles, who was still sitting on the park bench, half-dazed. The group of men came closer.

"Regardez cet infirme. On dirait qu’l est seul.”

"Peut-être qu’il a de l’argent."

"Sa montre a l’air chère!"

Charles was slowly coming to his senses. The first guy grabbed his arm. "No, let go!" He mumbled and tried to pull his arm away.

"Il est anglais ..." sighed one of the men and tore at Charles’s wristwatch. However, the clasp was not so easy to open, so the man tore not only on the watch, but also on Charles’s wrist.

"Ouch, shit, stop it!"

Charles tried to tear himself away, but couldn't match the man's strength. Finally he suddenly let go, so that Charles fell straight from the park bench into the gravel.

The group of guys laughed out loud. One of them even lit a cigarette as if nothing happened. Charles tried to pull himself together and crawl across the floor to his wheelchair. But one of the guys thought it would be funny to kick the wheelchair away. It overturned halfway and landed in the dirt just like Charles.

"Fucking crip," came the man's voice. "You look like fun. Give us your watch and your money. Then we'll leave you alone.” His English had a strong accent. Charles could hardly understand him. But that could also be due to the alcohol and the joint.

Charles just lay there because he couldn't muster enough strength to sit up straight. His limbs trembled. And he was afraid to get one of his attacks. But he tried to remain calm on the outside and took off his watch. Another guy in the group reached for Charles and grabbed his collar.

"Si vous nous donnez la montre volontairement, ce n’est pas amusant!"

"Adrian," came a sigh from the first guy. "Juste le laisser êt-re ..."

But the guy who had Charles on the collar just laughed and threw him again on the floor. The dust of the way came uncomfortably into Charles’s lunges, causing him to cough loudly.

"Hey," came a loud male voice. "Qu’est-ce que tu fais?"

The group turned and looked curiously at Erik, who was walking towards them with great strides. "... et tu es?" Asked one of the men and spat on the floor, which Charles found very disgusting. It had almost hit him.

"Le personne qui te dit de te faire foutre," Erik replied, and Charles was having trouble following the conversation. How did Erik speak French so well? Really impressive.

When Erik tried to pick up Charles’s wheelchair, one of the guys came running to kick him again so Erik couldn't reach for it. Suddenly everything went very quickly and the first fist flew into the guy's face. Erik had punched him hard in the jaw.

Of course the other gangsters didn't take long and started hitting Erik. Charles didn't know what to do, so he tried to crawl to the wheelchair himself. Erik got a few punches in the face. His nose was bleeding. Panicked, he crawled faster to reach the wheelchair. Then one of the groups reached for him again and kicked his ribs. Charles immediately rolled over the floor and held his chest.

"Ouch!", Charles called and narrowed his eyes. "Shit, it hurts! Why?!"

Before the aggressive guy could reach for Charles again, Erik kicked him and hit him right between the legs. The man went down and Erik hurled him as best he could at the others, who were slowly gathering up.

"Va te faire enculer!" Erik shouted and took another big step towards the guys. They winced and gripped each other to hold on. One of the guys had got a very crooked nose.

"Barrons-nous ..." said one of the group. The gangsters actually left the scene.

Erik was pumped up with adrenaline in the middle of the path. He stroked his face, which was full of blood.

"Oh god, Erik," whispered Charles, turning on the floor to his rescuer. "Are you hurt? Does it hurt a lot? Crap…"

His neighbour didn't answer, but came up to him somewhat annoyed and helped him up. "It's okay. Are you hurt?"

"I was just kicked ... it’s fine."

"Your face is all dirty," Erik said. He reached under Charles’s arms and hoisted him up.

"I kissed the floor several times," he giggled, but the joke was not well received. Instead, he was dragged across the floor and taken to his wheelchair. Erik picked him up as if he didn't weigh anything. Finally he put Charles back on the chair.

"Who was that?" Asked Erik, pointing to the now gone group of strangers.

"No idea," Charles sighed, still holding his ribs. "They came here and were looking for trouble."

"And obviously found it."

Charles looked up at his protector and noticed that his knuckles were bleeding too. But maybe the blood was from the others. "We should go to a toilet. Clean the wounds. Not that it ignites. I think I also have a graze on my elbow, it burns very unpleasantly anyway."

"Have you ever fought yourself, Charles?" Erik sighed and closed his eyes as if the whole thing had been too much for him again.

"Yes," he grinned proudly. “But that was many years ago when I was younger and healthier. Now I'm old and I want to clean my wound."

"Then do that." Erik started walking again, but stopped in the middle of the path. He reached into his trouser pocket and turned around once more. "Here. I still had that. "

He held out the cell phone to Charles. Charles looked at it as if surprised to see it.

"Leaving you here alone without a cell phone didn't seem like a good idea to me."

Charles hesitated to take the phone. "Leaving me alone here is generally not a good idea as you saw."

Erik didn't answer, but waited for Charles to take his cell phone out of his hand.

"Don't leave me alone, Erik," said Charles in the softest voice he had. "Let me clean your wounds and at least buy you a goodbye beer. Or whatever you want.” He looked at the park bench, where the burgers and tacos were still laying. "We also have something to eat."

But Erik didn't move. Instead, he stared at the fast food bags that were slowly soaking in the fat. But when nothing happened, resignation came across Charles’s face.

"Then at least take me to the hotel," Charles tried.

"No," Erik finally said and went to the park bench to take the bags. "Let's find a toilet and then eat our burgers and tacos, which have become cold in the meanwhile."

The next toilet was at a gas station that was open 24 hours a day. A woman, who was still fuelling her car, looked at the two in horror as they disappeared behind the building in the public loo. Erik pushed Charles ahead of him, who had the paper bags on his lap. The effects of the alcohol slowly subsided. Also the high of the joints.

"Really impressive, as you were able to take on five men at the same time," said Charles as he moistened towels in the sink and handed them to Erik.

"They didn't really fight back. And they had no knives or other weapons with them."

"Thank god ..." Charles murmured and sighed.

"Thank God? Then they would have just ended it and not you. Where's the difference?“ He asked and started dabbing his face with the paper towels. He kind of rubbed more than he was dabbing and spread small scraps of paper over his beard. Charles immediately snatched the paper towel from him and started wiping his attractive but demolished face. Erik was sitting on a garbage can and endured it.

"Then why did you save me ...?" Asked Charles very quietly, running his hand gently over Erik's face.

Green eyes remained on Charles for a very long time. Nobody said anything. Charles even stopped dabbing his face briefly. His nose had stopped bleeding by now.

Finally Erik looked down and broke eye contact. "No idea. It seemed right to me."

"And it was," Charles smiled, continuing the wiping. He threw the bloody cloth away and prepared another one under the tap. "Thank you for that, Erik. I'm glad you came back one more time. Even if it was only for my cell phone."

Erik then said nothing more. Instead, he helped Charles out of his jacket and shirt. His entire chest was slowly turning blue. His skin on his elbow was indeed broken.

"That looks bad ... But I'm not really in pain so far, so I'm assuming I haven't broken a rib or anything ..." Charles muttered to himself, trying to look at himself in the mirror.

"Should I take you to the hospital?" murmured Erik.

"No. Let's try something to eat.” Charles managed to smile again and felt the dirt fall from his cheeks. Erik reached for a wet cloth and roughly wiped over Charles’s face. The man giggled loudly and immediately grabbed Erik's arms that held him in position. Finally Erik crumpled up the cloth and tossed it into the trash can with a slight grin.


	2. Tonight

This time they found a brighter place near the Eiffel Tower. A few tourists and locals were still on the go and brought some life to the city. Charles felt safer and Erik could watch moodily people.

Together they unpacked their fast food and started eating. Everything had gone cold, but still tasted good.

Charles had decided not to ask any more uncomfortable questions that could drive Erik away. He also didn't want to tell useless information about himself. So he just sat next to Erik on a concrete rise that was a demarcation from bushes.

It took exactly two tacos and a burger for Erik to say something on his own. "When did the diagnosis come?"

"Ten years ago," replied Charles, biting off his burger.

"That is a long time ago. Why are you so pessimistic that your course of the disease will worsen over the next ten years?"

“Multiple sclerosis is a disease with many faces. You can't really tell what exactly is happening. Some people can live to old age. Others die of it after a few years. And my progress has been good so far, but now it is getting worse from month to month. They have changed my medication three times, but I don't think I respond very well to it.”

Erik crumpled up his empty paper and threw it into the empty bag. "And you don't want to fight anymore?"

Charles sighed softly and looked at his burger. "It's actually not that. I don't want to be a burden to anyone. My sister is the only one who takes care of me. And she doesn't want to send me to an asylum."

"Then that's her personal decision," Erik concluded. "That's no reason to take your life."

That made Charles smile. He leaned back a little, looking deep into Erik's eyes. "I thought you didn't want to talk me out of it. Didn't we have some kind of agreement?"

Charles knew that he had crossed a line again, but to his surprise Erik stayed calm and made eye contact. "That's right, but I also saved you from strange guys despite the fact that I could have easily let you die, so at least I can tell you that there are large gaps in your reasoning."

“Sometimes suicide is the last resort. Some things can’t be fixed,” breathed Charles and pushed his eyebrows together. "I just don't want to be a vegetable. And watch my sister ruin her life because of me. The disease cannot be cured. So the prospect of a bright future is ruined. And since she can’t let go of me, it’s my turn to let go of her. For her sake.”

"But at least you have your sister," Erik said and finally broke eye contact. "That is worth a lot."

"It is indeed. But my sister has her husband. I don't want to compete there. Even if Hank is just as nice to me, I don't want to put their patience to the test.”

Erik just nodded and started tearing the edges of the bag.

Charles ate his burger and tossed the paper into the other bag. Erik collected everything and removed it into a nearby trash. The conversation got ugly again, so Charles tried to find something to brighten the mood.

"Is there anything I can do to make you happy?" Asked Charles, eyes wide open. "As a thank you. As a farewell gift. Or whatever you want to see it."

"Not really ..." he murmured, standing a little uncomfortably in front of Charles, who was still sitting on the concrete.

If Erik had no last wish, Charles could at least express his own.

"Do you like dancing?" Charles looked at his cell phone. He saw a message from Raven. But he didn’t want to reply. After all, he was overdue with his life to end anyway. "It is only half past twelve. We could definitely go to a dance hall."

It took a little moment for Erik to respond. "I don't want to look rude, but," Erik cleared his throat uncomfortably while avoiding to look at the wheelchair. Charles knew what was about to come, so he was preparing for a stab in the heart.

"How old are you?"

The question caught Charles so unprepared that he had to think for a moment. But before he could say anything, Erik had to smile.

"Who says _dance hall_ these days?"

Charles immediately mimicked the smile. "An old sack like me, apparently."

Erik chuckled darkly. The small wrinkles around his eyes deepened and his white teeth literally shone from the street light. He had a very nice smile. Charles was impressed with how much he liked it.

"Let's go to the next best club and dance," suggested Charles, heaving himself from the concrete wall onto the wheelchair. "At least we can try to make it look like it. You will probably have to dance for both of us."

Erik seemed to like the idea as he didn't hesitate to grab Charles’s wheelchair to roll him off the direction of brightly lit streets. The people on the streets grew louder and drunker, so even Charles got in the mood. Even though the fiasco with the gangster group was still in his bones.

But the joy had gone really quickly again, because one club after the other rejected Charles and Erik. Actually only Charles, but Erik refused to go in alone. The locations were not designed for wheelchair users. Charles would not have gotten in anywhere - simply because most of them had an enormous number of stairs.

The moody atmosphere came back quicker than thought. In the end, they both ended up at a corner pub, the music so loud that you didn't actually have to go inside to hear it.

They drank a beer and tried to talk over the loud music, but actually they didn't understand anything. Eventually, a small group of people started to dance. Charles bobbed his torso as best he could while Erik was just standing there watching the others.

"Come on, dance!" Charles called, cheerfully waving Erik to the dancing group. "Dance for me!"

Erik froze for a moment and looked pityingly at his friend. Charles knew the look and he didn't want to see it - especially not from Erik. But before he could say anything to finally get Erik on the dance floor, Erik frantically set his glass aside. He immediately snatched Charles’s glass away as well.

"Dance _with_ me," he said firmly, reaching for Charles’s torso. The sudden touch and closeness to Erik caught Charles off guard. He was dragged out of the wheelchair and pressed firmly against Erik. He held him on the torso with one hand and on the hip with the other. With a lot of strength, he hoisted Charles up and turned with him one time around their own axis.

"Oh god, Erik! Stop! “, Charles called, but laughed loudly at the same time. Not only because Erik's hands accidentally tickled his ribs, but also because a huge surge of adrenaline flowed through his veins.

Erik remained undeterred and swung Charles from left to right as best he could. They moved to the music while Charles hung on Erik like a monkey. But it didn't seem to bother him to carry a full grown adult man around and move him.

At some point Charles put his arms around Erik's neck to steady them both. They smiled at each other while the music rocked them.

The night was so young and Charles felt full of joy. So happy. With a strange man in his arms who, like him, would end his life in a few hours. For the first time in so many weeks, months, years ... Charles wished the night would be a little longer.

They danced to the music for a while, until Erik's arms gave way and trembled. He carefully put Charles back in the wheelchair.

"You're insane, Erik," said Charles, out of breath. He didn't even know why he was so exhausted.

"It was your idea to dance," snorted Erik and ordered two beers from a waitress. "So we danced."

"But I think hardly anyone would have been able to carry me for so long. Let alone ... come up with the idea of doing that in the first place."

Erik wiped his slightly damp forehead. His cheek, which must have been hit by a gangster previously, was turning purple. But the dimmed light from the beer garden covered up the injuries quite well. "Was it fun for you?"

Charles smiled as broadly as he could and hoped his joy would pass on Erik. "I didn’t have so much fun in a very long time."

"Then I did everything right," Erik chuckled and winked at Charles. That made him swallow hard. Was that an attempt to flirt? Or did Charles interpret too much?

They paused for a while before the music suddenly changed. Weird French hits pounded through the boxes. Well, one could argue about musical taste, right?

"Is that your music?" Asked Charles, balancing his beer glass on his lap. Erik in the meantime drank again very quickly as if the beer was just water.

"No, not really," he admitted, even smiling a little.

"Would you rather look for a club somewhere that plays rock? Or metal?"

Erik immediately shook his head. "I don't think that is necessary."

Charles shrugged. "I hear everything and nothing. As far as I'm concerned, we can go to a heavy metal club. I would be interested anyway how the people are there."

But Erik was pushing around. He looked down, then at the crowd, and then at Charles. The eye contact felt intense. So intense that Charles almost wanted to look away. But he couldn't.

"I don't actually listen to metal at all," said Erik calmly, although the music and the people around him were all the louder. "Well, maybe sometimes. Like you probably. Everything and nothing. But not really. That at the hotel earlier ..."

"It's okay," breathed Charles, trying to smile. He didn't want Erik to run away again.

"It’s not okay," he grumbled and drank his beer glass empty. His eyes shone in the stale light. "I wanted to pull it through and put an end to all the suffering. So I ... like you ... booked a nice hotel room, which reminded me ... of certain times. I knew the hotel. I spent some time there with a special person.”

The new information that just gushed out of him made Charles fall silent. He didn't want to interrupt Erik - and yet he had a thousand questions.

"So I came here and got drunk. While throwing in the third aspirin tablet, I somehow felt like extreme music. I became aggressive and frankly I don't know why."

"Maybe because of the music?" Charles tried to say something; hoping not to have used the wrong word.

“I turned it on to give an outlet to my aggression. Instead of ... just sitting in the bathtub. I stalled it. "

Erik looked away briefly and seemed to be thinking.

"I probably became aggressive because I panicked. And because I was panicking ... I tried to do something else instead. That was stupid. I shouldn't have waited so long.”

Charles also drank his beer glass empty and set it aside. He felt like they were going to the hotel any minute. Erik suddenly sounded very determined.

"I think you were right. Earlier,” Erik finally admitted, suddenly sounding much less determined than before. "When you said ... that I had deliberately made the music so loud because I knew someone was going to complain. I definitely didn't make the decision consciously, but ... I knew that sooner or later someone would complain. But because I was so aggressive, I was just waiting for someone to come. To yell at him or maybe even to insult him. Somehow I was in the mood to riot."

"But you didn't yell at me," Charles recalled, looking up hopefully.

Erik nodded and pressed his lips together. “Because you're in a wheelchair, Charles. I can imagine you can't hear it anymore, but I just couldn't scream at you. Not in your condition. That is not right."

"It's never right to yell at someone like that just because you want to, but I understand what you mean," Charles murmured, starting to play with his fingernails. There was still a lot of dirt below them from the park's gravel path. "Then I'm glad that you reacted differently than you actually wanted to react."

Erik nodded. "And I'm glad you came to the door."

Charles looked up immediately. He looked at Erik with wide eyes. "Does that mean you think about it again?"

Then Erik laughed. But as soon as the laughter came, it went as quickly. "No, the decision is still there. But I am much more relaxed about the fact that we are currently wasting enormous time and stalling the inevitable.”

Charles would have liked to disagree, but the more he thought about it, the more he had to agree with Erik. They wasted time. Actually, they just wanted to have a drink as a compromise because Charles didn't just let Erik die and he wanted to see Paris again. Now they had several glasses of alcohol, a joint, a fight and definitely ate over 3000kcal and were looking for something exciting again.

"Then we'll take a little more time, right?" Charles finally said, smiling broadly at Erik. "Let go and do something crazy."

"Even crazier than the drug story?" Erik sighed, looking around furtively. Afraid that the group of men could reappear.

"Maybe a little more legal," laughed Charles, starting to roll onto the sidewalk. "Have you ever been to a strip club?"

"No," Erik replied as fast as a pistol and Charles would have recognized a lie in anyone else, but with Erik the reaction came across very honestly.

"Then we should go visit one now. They often even have discounts for a drink and something to eat,” joked Charles, already rolling away. Erik followed with big steps and grabbed the wheelchair.

"It sounds like you have a lot of experience there."

Charles laughed shily. "No, I haven't been to a strip club in many years. After all, I was a teacher."

"Oh wow ... teacher? Erik asked, pushing his friend through the alleys. "I wouldn't have thought."

"No? What would you have thought about what I do for a living?"

"No idea. Banker? Real estate agent? Something where you can get a lot of experience with drugs and parties,” Erik joked very dryly, so that Charles wasn't quite sure whether it was meant as a joke at all.

It wasn't long before they came to the red-light district. One sex shop after the other was lined up next to casinos and diners. Suddenly Erik stopped.

"What's wrong? Changed your mind?” Asked Charles, trying to turn around but he couldn't see Erik.

"Do you prefer women or men?" Came Erik's counter-question completely unexpectedly, so that Charles had to hold on to the wheelchair again to avoid falling off.

"Uh. Well. I don't care,” he stuttered and didn't quite know how much honesty was too much honesty in the situation. Erik didn't look like someone who could tolerate dissenting opinions.

"Is the question too direct?" Erik asked and finally stepped into Charles view field. “It's just: there is a club with women and there is a club with men. Maybe you're gay and would throw up in the beam if we went to a strip club with women."

Erik's tough honesty made Charles giggle softly. "I'm not gay," he said sheepishly. "But I'm also not particularly heterosexual. I tried too much in my youth for that. I admit that."

At the moment he did not want to admit that Erik himself struck a very special nerve in Charles.

Erik nodded as if he had to process the information first. "Then we go to the men's club. You wanted to do something crazy and a strip club with only men sounds very crazy.”

Charles didn't quite know how to process Erik’s reaction, as he gave no clues as to whether he found Charles bisexuality okay or disgusting. After all, he described a gay club as something crazy. But maybe Charles was just interpreting too much into it.

And before he knew it, Erik rolled him towards the strip club. On the way there, he wondered what exactly they were doing, but when a very muscular man came out the door wearing only denim shorts and a cowboy hat, he remembered the "crazy thing".

"Hé les garcon. Comment allez vous? Est-ce ta première fois ici?” He asked in a dark voice, that kind of turned Charles on a bit. His beard and hair looked very wild.

"Oui. Pouvons-nous entrer?” Erik replied in his perfect French.

The tall man glanced briefly at Charles, but then nodded immediately and gave both of them a fat stamp on the back of their hand. And suddenly they were in a very dark corridor, where loud music was already booming.

"Who would have thought that a strip club is suddenly wheelchair accessible," joked Charles, looking at the neon lights on the wall.

"Apparently, everyone is welcome here," mused Erik, finally pushing Charles into a large room where there were only men - except for a few workers that were actually female.

Or at least looked female.

"Wow, it's a little different than I remembered," said Charles in a loud voice so Erik could hear him over the loud music. The man only nodded and looked around the room a little unsettlingly. Lightly clothed, very muscular, attractive men danced on the poles, while equally attractive men stood around them. Charles in particular felt extremely out of place. He tried to enjoy the view, but the more he looked around and saw strange half-naked guys, the sooner he wanted to see Erik's face. The familiar face that had been with him for a few hours now and gave him some comfort.

When they were sitting in a somewhat quieter corner - far away from the strippers - a nice waitress took their order. In no time the two had several glasses in front of their noses. It was Erik's idea to order multiple drinks at a time again.

"I think I drank so much the last time when I was ... 30," laughed Charles, teasing his fingernails. But Erik's eyes grew darker by the minute. "Are you sure you want to be here? We can go across to the strip club if you want.”

Erik immediately shook his head and sipped his long drink. But his mood didn't really brighten.

"Are you even interested in men?" Charles asked. "Or was it meant as just a crazy joke? I know I suggested the strip club, but… there is no need to sit in a men's strip club.”

His friend sighed softly and quickly drank his glass while Charles was still struggling with his one. Amazing how much Erik was able to drink. When Erik's glass reached the somewhat sticky table and he reached for the second long drink, he said: "I'm sort of straight."

Charles resisted the temptation to ask why Erik had used the words "sort of". "Then we'll go somewhere else."

Erik shook his head again and simply drank his drink as he watched the half-naked men who passed their table here and there. Charles, on the other hand, only had eyes for Erik. For his auburn hair, green eyes and red seven-day stubble. He wondered if Erik had a partner. Apparently he had no one, but such a handsome man was rarely alone for long.

Charles was lost in his thoughts about who Erik could’ve been when the hairy man from the door suddenly came up to them. He had taken off his cowboy hat and had a milky drink in his hand. Charles could only hope that it was a White Russian or similar an alcoholic and not what you could partially order in such clubs.

"Are you American?" He asked with a slight accent, which surprisingly sounded very sexy.

"Yes and no," replied Charles, when Erik only stared at the man with wide eyes. "I lived in England for many years and actually feel more like an Englishman than an American."

The bearded man nodded with interest and then looked at Erik, who was only drawing a strict line with his lips instead of answering. "Also English?" Asked the man carefully and raised both eyebrows. "Non attends. Vous êtes néerlandais. Non non! Scandinave! Ou peut-être écossais?”

"Non, je suis allemand," Erik replied dryly without making a face. He didn't seem to like the man very much.

But the guy took it with humour and immediately laughed out loud. With his legs wide apart, he sat on a small stool at the table. Due to his muscles and the large statue, the stool looked even tinier. "Are you visiting Paris? Vacation?"

Both Charles and Erik winced at the question. An honest answer was out of the question, so Charles looked uncertainly at his friend, who ran his tongue several times over his lips. Finally he lied: "Yes. Only for a few days."

"Magnifique!" Praised the man and took a sip of his drink. "Paris, ville d'amour, right? Are you looking for some love or have you already found it?"

The man looked in particular at Charles and smiled charmingly. Charles was not blind and could only hope that the man also had eyes in his head, because after all he was in a wheelchair and what do you want with a guy in a wheelchair, in all honesty?

But considering what establishment they were in it could have been a wild kink of the guy.

"We've already found it," said Erik suddenly dead serious and also took a good sip of his drink. His second glass was empty and Charles was again impressed by how sober Erik still looked. His own world was already beginning to move.

"I see!" The man called, raising both eyebrows. "That’s really nice! How long have you been together?"

"Oh - no, we're not," Charles started hectically, but Erik interrupted him immediately.

"For one year."

Charles’s eyes widened and looked shocked at what appeared to be his now boyfriend. The man who had just sat down at the table grinned broadly.

"That's great. You are a cute couple,” he said frankly and gestured between Erik and Charles. "What are your names?"

Erik didn't want to answer the question, so Charles did it for him. "I am Charles. That's Erik.” He tried to smile as politely as possible. After all, the guy let them in without any hassle.

"Nice to meet you," said the man, winking at Charles. "I am Logan. I own the club."

"Wow," Charles continued to smile politely, drinking from his glass. "Interesting business I guess."

"Oh yes!" Logan laughed, slamming his glass on the table. "You don't believe what you sometimes gotta see in the night! Most of it is really kinky shit. But we’ve got rooms for that in the back, you know? For more."

“Isn't that forbidden in France? Prostitution?” Erik asked coolly, shaping his eyes to slits. Charles felt a certain tension vibrating in the air. He didn't quite understand why Erik suddenly attacked Logan when the man had only sat down for two minutes and was anything but rude.

"Oh, oui," Logan confirmed. “But the rooms are for customers. No money flows here. If one of the dancers wants to fuck someone, he can do that. Sometimes there is a certain spark. Or when two customers are so horny that they want to let some air out. But that's not prostitution."

Both Charles and probably Erik smelled the lie behind the explanation. There may have not been officially money involved, but unofficially certainly. And if it was in the form of other transactions like drinks or other nice things. Charles just nodded.

Logan then ordered one drink after the other and never left the table. In fact, Charles found himself amused by the conversation with Logan, so he played along. Erik, on the other hand, didn't seem to find the conversation amusing or boring. He was sitting very tensely between Charles and Logan, watching every movement closely. It was as if he was literally sucking the words out of their mouths. But he never took part in the conversation.

After so many drinks that Charles no longer knew how much they already had, Logan asked again about their relationship. He was also visibly drunk.

"May I ask if you got to know each other like this ... or did that come after?" Logan then gesticulated to Charles’s wheelchair.

Erik was faster and apparently shaped the lie according to his will by not telling the truth. "It's a very tasteless question."

"It's okay," Charles said, putting a hand on Erik's leg. It had to be convincing, right? "We got to know each other like this. I've been in a wheelchair for just over a year. He met me ... at one of my deepest points in life."

The statement wasn't even a lie, so Erik suddenly made eye contact with Charles. He said nothing, but remained silent, leaving Charles’s hand on his leg.

"Merde," Logan grunted, raising his eyebrows. "But now you have one another, right? That you have been together for a year is a good sign."

Charles just smiled and nodded.

"What is the sex like?" Logan asked, grinning mischievously.

"Another very tasteless question," gnarled Erik and seemed to be about to knock Logan down.

"What should the sex look like?", Charles quickly answered to avoid a fight and probably showed more teeth when smiling than was necessary. "It’s is good. Very good."

Erik's gaze immediately asked "really?", but he said nothing. How did they get into this situation in the first place?

"So I assume that you are more the bottom and Erik the top? Or does Erik ride you sometimes?” Logan seemed very interested in the subject.

Charles almost choked on his own spit. "Sometimes like this ... sometimes like that ...", he said very quietly, hoping Erik would not leave him because he had said too many stupid words at once.

"Exciting," Logan breathed, staring at Charles. “My husband Scott is just as flexible. I love that. On some days I don't know if he will fuck me or I will fuck him. It often depends on his mood. That's what makes the whole thing so exciting. And sometimes he also brings his wife along.”

That was probably the breakdown of Erik's nerves. He suddenly got up - tottered sideways - and picked up Charles’s wheelchair. “It was very nice, but we have to go back to the hotel now. It's already late."

Charles’s heart immediately started beating hardly against his chest. The nervousness literally spread through his entire body.

"What a pity," Logan sighed and also got up. "I would have loved to get to know you until Scott came back. Maybe that would have resulted in one or the other. "

"Rather not," growled Erik, pushing Charles away from the table. Charles said goodbye as quickly as he could and wished the man a nice evening. Everything around him swam and became out of focus. It was only when they were outside and the cool air hit the drunk mind that Charles felt his eyes fill with tears.

"We're going back?" He breathed barely audibly and suddenly felt how much his hands trembled.

Erik pushed Charles a little further away from the club until they were on a somewhat secluded street with casinos. There he stopped and stepped into Charles’s field of vision. "Do you want to go back?"

Charles shook his head gently. "That would mean that you go through with it, right?"

"That's right," Erik said softly, blinking a few times. Suddenly he took a deep breath and put his hands on his hips. He looked around a bit until he turned back to Charles and pointed to the other strip club. "Do we still want to go in there? For comparison?"

Charles turned in his chair. The other strip club was definitely more crowded and had a less strange aura. But that Erik wanted to spend more time with him made him smile. The mood brightened immediately and the tears in Charles’s eyes subsided. "Would you like to have such a great conversation with someone different?"

"Who knows, maybe women ask other questions," Erik surprisingly got into the joke and already reached for Charles’s wheelchair. With uncertain steps he went to the strip club, from which loud music sounded.

"I usually don't like people pushing me around," Charles admitted suddenly, cursing his loose tongue when he was drunk.

In fact, Erik instantly stopped pushing. "Why didn’t you say that earlier?"

"No, no," Charles revised his statement in an instant and instinctively reached over his shoulder. There he felt Erik's warm hand on the handle, around which he immediately put his own hand. "There was supposed to follow a" but ". It feels nice with you. As a matter of course. Like a relief. Please, Erik. You can push me wherever you want."

Charles couldn't see Erik since he was still standing behind him. When he said nothing after several moments, Charles insecurely pulled his hand away. The alcohol made it increasingly difficult to see the limits. Erik was still a strange man. Their common ground until now was death and a lot of alcohol. But whenever they talked about something, it felt natural. Kind of good. Even if Charles was the one who did the talking most of the time.

Erik still didn't say anything. When Charles got more and more nervous and wanted to turn around, he felt Erik's hand on his shoulder. It ran gently over his neck and finally stopped on his cheek.

"Then I'll push you to a strip club again," he heard Erik's very quiet dry joke. Charles immediately giggled and the previous tension evaporated in no time.

There was a guy at the door who didn't look as funny or nice as Logan. Instead, he wore a suit and had a Bluetooth headphone in his ear. He eyed Erik and Charles for a few seconds until he finally pressed his lips together and nodded. Charles could see a mixture of annoyance and pity in his eyes. The alcohol helped to keep him from thinking about it any further.

The strip club was loud and crowded. In contrast to the gay club, there were also a lot of unattractive men, which cut down the bar of attractiveness a little further. The women who danced at the dance poles were also between attractive and rather mediocre. Charles realized that he had liked the other strip club better. It was smaller. Cosy. And somehow more pleasant, despite having had such an unpleasant conversation with the owner.

Erik sat down with Charles at a small round table and looked around tensely.

"You don't like it either, do you?" Asked Charles, smiling amused. "Neither do I, if you are interested in my opinion."

"If I had to choose between the two clubs, I would like to go back to the hotel," joked Erik, and for a brief moment Charles even laughed with him. But the meaning behind it quickly made him fall silent again. The hotel developed into a place where Charles did not want to return.

At least not _yet_.

They ordered a couple of shots and long drinks. When Charles asked Erik for a simple Coke, he was immediately laughed at. But while he was laughing, he got up and went to the bar to get Charles a big coke.

The music was so loud that they could barely talk. So they just sat quietly next to each other while drinking their drinks. Only when a stripper suddenly came dangerously close to the two did Erik wave her away immediately. With a polite smile, Charles nodded to her, hoping it was all he had to do to make her go. In fact, the lady just shrugged her shoulders and went in a different direction.

"We're pretty bad strip club goers," shouted Charles Erik in the ear. He had to lean half in his lap to understand anything.

He nodded and turned his head to scream in Charles’s ear. "Maybe that's just not our world. After all, you are a teacher."

Charles laughed brightly. "That's true. What have you done so far?"

Charles had actually assumed that Erik would not want to talk about his previous life again when he was surprised with an answer. "I designed industrial machines."

"Wow," breathed Charles, widening his eyes. "That's impressive, Erik. What were the machines for?"

Erik grinned lightly and finally leaned on Charles’s armrest to protect his back as he bent over to reach Charles’s ear. "Mainly for the steel industry."

Charles smiled broadly and nodded with interest. So Erik was not only pretty, but also intelligent. An often very dangerous mixture. "Do you live in Germany? Or somewhere else because of the work?"

"In Germany. But my work…” and then he fell silent for a moment. He looked at his half-full glass and ran his finger over the drops of water. “I had to travel a lot because of my work. Basically, I lived here for a while. And in London."

"Then you've seen a lot," Charles smiled, guessing more behind the information. But as always, he didn't dare to ask. “I've rarely been around in the past few years. The school bound me enormously."

Erik looked at him for a while. "So you like children?"

"I love children," said Charles dreamily. "When my sister announced that she wanted to give birth to a child with her husband, I was almost happier than she was."

"Don't you have your own children?"

Charles’s smile narrowed. "No. I didn't have a partner."

"You can have a child without a partner," Erik made a good objection. But Charles cocked his head and shook his head slightly.

"I'm a hopeless romantic, I'm afraid. If I wanted to raise a child, I would like to do it with a partner.”

"It's not too late for that yet..." Erik murmured so quietly that Charles wasn't sure if Erik wanted to say these words or if they had just come out of him accidentally.

"Maybe," replied Charles almost as quietly. He leaned a little closer to Erik and looked at almost every little crease in his face with his eyes. "Besides ... who would want a cripple with an expiration date?"

He remembered the conversation. At the very beginning when they met in the hotel room. Erik had given him a snappy answer. This one came all the more surprising:

"Another cripple with an expiration date?"

Charles immediately looked for Erik's eyes. At first, the answer felt extremely inappropriate. But the longer he looked into Erik's eyes, the more he understood the real meaning.

Erik pressed his lips together briefly and pulled up one corner of his mouth. "My disability is not visible. But it is there. It is a psychological handicap."

"It's not a handicap ..." Charles whispered in Erik's face despite the loud music.

"Yes, it is," Erik contradicted and looked away briefly. "My depression is hindering me. It keeps me from the beautiful things in life and makes me sad. Aggressive. Cynical. People don't like that. They distance themselves from me and I am alone in the end."

"You are not alone," said Charles with as much conviction as he could. "You are not alone, Erik."

And Charles wasn't sure if he meant other people with depression or himself being with him. Because he was the one who had kept Erik from suicide and was now dangerously close to him in a strip club.

Erik's eyes darted back to Charles, who was still looking hopefully at him. Suddenly he smiled. It was sad but honest. "I know."

The moment suddenly felt strange. So intimate. So close. If the topic hadn't been so sad, it would have been flirting, wouldn't it?

Before Charles, drunk as he was, could get himself a little closer to Erik, he saw a large man approaching them in the corner of his eye. It was the security guy from the door. Charles already wanted to roll his eyes - because with what probability did it happen a second time that the bouncer wanted to chat - then he noticed the scowl with which he approached them.

"I have to ask you to come with me," he said in a low voice and a strong accent. He pointed in an unknown direction. That was definitely not the door they came through earlier.

"Why?" Erik asked immediately in a harsh tone. "We didn't do anything."

"Follow me now," the man repeated calmly, but very decisively. Charles would not have had the balls like Erik to ask again.

"Mais pourquoi? Il n'y a aucune raison de nous faire partir”, Erik explained and pulled his eyebrows tightly. His aggressive mood came back faster than expected.

Security guy probably didn't have much fun there. "Get your ass out of this club before I make you."

Erik finally got up with difficulty, reaching for Charles’s wheelchair to steady himself. Charles himself was silent and just put his hands on his lap. They walked past the masses of people with their eyes only on the strippers. When they finally reached a dark back room, Charles had to swallow hard. What had they done? Was homosexuality taboo in a heterosexual strip club? Would they be stoned because of that? But they had only exchanged loving words!

The security finally opened a door and indicated to the two that they should go.

"That's crazy," Erik started to get upset and didn't move a meter. “We are guests like everyone else. At least explain yourself!"

"Fuck off," snapped the security Erik and finally pulled Erik out of the club by the arm. He stumbled on the road and fell on the asphalt.

"Oh, Erik," Charles exclaimed, rolling out voluntarily. Not that he could have fought back if the security grabbed him. Locking the wheels would not have done much.

Erik was already getting up and glowering at the security, which immediately closed the heavy door. Charles tried to bend down to Erik as best he could to help him.

"What an asshole," murmured Erik, leaning on Charles’s wheelchair. He put a hand on Charles’s leg. "We didn't do anything at all."

"Maybe because we sent this one stripper away? And we were occupying a seat for real customers?”, Charles tried to explain the situation, but his words sounded stupid even in his ears. Maybe it was the alcohol speaking.

Erik's pronunciation was also slowly suffering from alcohol. "Whatever ... let's go somewhere else."

Before Charles was happy that Erik hadn't suggested the hotel, several men came into the little street. It took a few moments for Charles to recognize them: the gangsters from the park.

"Oh, no," breathed Charles, startled, and immediately grabbed Erik's wrist. “These are the guys from the park. Let's go, Erik!"

But when Erik grabbed the wheelchair and wanted to turn around, two men came up to them from the other direction. And they were armed.

"Do you really think we're going to let a cripple and half a shirt beat us up?" One of the gangsters called, making strange hand movements. "Scum comme vous devriez mourir."

Erik - as always with a big mouth - just called back: "Jokes on you, that was our plan."

"Erik, don't say that, they'll take that as an invitation," Charles began, and just then the gangster pointed his probably loaded gun at Erik and him. Charles froze to a pillar of salt while Erik continued to provoke.

"Really impressive how the five of you creak into a dark alley to threaten two drunken guys because you feel dirty in your honour."

"Erik, leave it," Charles whispered as quietly as he could, pulling on his wrist, which he still had iron-tightly in his grip.

"Maybe I should shoot you first!" One of the gangsters took another step towards the two. He wagged his gun dangerously aggressively.

"Try it and it will be your last try..." Erik warned with a rather empty threat when the guy suddenly really shot.

But he shot past Erik. A warning shot. Charles winced and half hid behind Erik. Not very alpha, but he had never found himself in such a dangerous situation.

"Last warning," the guy growled with the gun and fiddled with it in the air. "Or I really shoot you off."

"W-what do you want from us anyway?" Asked Charles, boldly, still clinging to Erik's arm. "If you are not looking for retaliation?"

The word "retaliation" was probably unknown, so a discussion started in French until Erik intervened again:

"Just piss off, you cheap arse-lickers!"

The insult was well understood, because the gangster stopped talking.

Then one guy shot Erik.

Everything happened so quickly that Charles couldn't react. Erik went down and held his leg.

"No, _no_!" Charles screamed hysterically, trying to get closer to Erik without running his tires over him. "Erik! Are you okay? Erik!"

"Fuck, shut up, cripple!" Shouted another guy, shooting at Charles’s wheelchair. The bullet ricocheted off and landed in the wall. Thank God not in Erik, who lay dangerously close to the ground and gasped.

After several shots had been fired, sirens finally sounded. It didn't matter whether they were on their way to Erik and Charles or wanted to go somewhere else. Because the gangsters looked nervous and finally put their weapons away. They came up to Charles with quick steps and reached for his jacket. They groped roughly for his wallet and pulled out the cash Charles had with him. They did the same with Erik. Another guy also grabbed Charles’s rings. Erik was not wearing a watch. Disappointed, they let go of him. Charles flinched when one of the guys let him hit the wall with his wheelchair.

With quick steps they moved away from the scene. The sirens grew louder but passed. The police weren't meant for them.

Thank god they hadn't stolen their cell phones. Nowadays people don’t see any value in something everyone could easily afford.

"Erik," Charles murmured, still visibly shocked, trying to get his demolished wheelchair off the wall. "Erik, please say something! Are you all right?"

From afar, Charles heard only a groan.

"Oh, shit, Erik, _please_ ," whined Charles, feeling that he was close to tears. He'd worked all evening to make Erik refrain from suicide, only to lose him in a dirty alley. "Please stay with me!"

He rolled as best he could to his friend, who was slowly getting up. He staggered himself while sitting. Finally he looked up and reached for Charles’s leg with a bloody hand. "I stay with you…"

"Oh, thank God ... are you okay?" Asked Charles, immediately clasping the bloody hand in his. "Shit, where did the bullet got you? Should I call the ambulance? "

"No, it’s fine..." Erik gasped, holding his right thigh. "Just brushed me. Was a bad shooter."

"Still ... that doesn't look good. Maybe it needs to be sewn? It is bleeding like hell anyway!"

Erik shook his head and finally began to laugh. "I really thought the guy was shooting me."

"I thought so too!" Charles cried much more desperately and kept looking at the wound. It was bleeding, but Erik was right: it was just a graze.

"Let's go back to the gas station," whispered Erik as he tried to get up. That worked out quite well despite alcohol and a wound. The wheelchair helped him stay upright. "Then I stuff a few paper towels between my pants and the wound."

"I don't think that's a good idea ..."

"Neither do I," Erik laughed maniacally and drove Charles out of the dark alley. The adrenaline rush had also shocked Erik. But it expressed itself in hysterical laughter.

They reached the gas station after what felt like an eternity. The alcohol had reached its high again, so that Charles only noticed marginally how Erik stuffed an enormous number of paper handkerchiefs into his pants. For fun, of course, in his crotch, which made both laugh.

The time somehow flew by. Suddenly it was getting brighter on the horizon.

"What time do we have?" Asked Charles while he was sitting on a bench with Erik, not far from the hotel.

Erik dug out his cell phone and stretched out his injured leg with a sigh. "Shortly after five o'clock ..."

"Wow," breathed Charles dazedly, barely keeping his eyes open. "We really went through the night."

"Mhm," Erik grumbled and put the phone away. "If it weren't for the fucking gangster guys, it would have been nice."

"It was very nice despite the guys ...", Charles admitted quietly and looked at Erik's leg. "So ... except for your leg maybe."

"And our money and your jewellery."

"Do you have enough with you? I can give you some money."

Erik laughed softly. “I have my credit card on my cell phone and as a good old traditional card in my wallet. I'll be fine, thanks.” Suddenly he turned to Charles and looked at him for a while. "I hope the jewellery had no sentimental value."

"No, it was just jewellery," said Charles, shrugging his shoulders. “The watch was expensive, but that doesn't matter either. I just buy a new one."

Erik laughed again and mimicked Charles. " _Then I'll just buy a new one_! As if money grows on trees. Chill, Charles."

Charles giggled embarrassed. "It doesn’t, I know that."

Erik folded his hands in his lap. "So are you rich?" He asked smugly, indicating a joke.

"Yes," said Charles honestly, grinning at Erik's face. "I inherited a lot. My sister currently lives on my property, but that ... well. I leave that to her, of course. You have to know, she's not my real sister. She was adopted. But I love her like my own. So she will inherit everything."

Erik suddenly became very quiet. Only when Charles blinked uncertainly several times did he find his voice again. "Are you really rich?"

"I find the expression somehow stupid, but yes, you could say I own quite a bit of money."

That made Erik shake his head while laughing. "Then you can afford everything. Housekeeping, staff, cooks ... nursing service. Maybe even better doctors. That's the way it is almost everywhere; the more money you have, the better the treatment."

"Kind of ..." Charles murmured, looking into his hands. He couldn't even make out his ankles anymore, everything was so blurry. "But that's not really the matter ..."

Erik would have liked to protest, but said nothing. Instead, he sighed again and leaned an arm on Charles’s wheelchair.

"Hey, Charl," Erik asked suddenly, as if the previous conversation had never taken place. "Do you still have the joint?"

Charles paused and thought about it. "Yes, I have. Why? Do you want it?"

"Yes, let's smoke it."

"No ..., Erik, that's not a good thing now ..." he murmured, swaying a bit in his wheelchair. "We are drunk and one shouldn't smoke drunk ..."

"We were also drunk a little while ago. It worked pretty well."

"Not _that_ drunk ..." Charles chuckled and suddenly had to laugh. It was extremely ridiculous to see two grown men sitting on a lonely park bench watching the sunrise while talking drunk about marijuana.

"Cut the crappy teacher talk and get out the joint, Charles," Erik sighted and leaned over to him. He reached into Charles’s jacket without asking and felt for the sachet. Charles didn’t stop him and let him do as he pleased. He watched Erik's face again. His eyes. His wrinkles.

When Erik found the joint and tore it out of the bag, he didn't hesitate long and set it on fire. He immediately took a long drag and even closed his eyes. Finally he held the glow stick to Charles. "See it as the last act for tonight."

Charles’s features hardened immediately when he heard Erik's sad words. Nevertheless, he took the joint and took a deep breath. He felt the world moving away from him.

"Please overthink your plan, Erik ..."

" _You_ should overthink your plan."

Charles giggled. "You didn't want to convince me."

"I probably can't anyway. But I can influence you as best as I can,” purred Erik, putting an arm around Charles’s shoulders.

"Oh yeah?" Charles flirted back, not knowing where the erotic mood came from. Maybe Erik was joking.

But he stared into Charles’s eyes for a while, whereas the joint was passed around a few more times. Finally Erik lowered his eyes. "I felt sorry for you and so I agreed to have a drink with you. But after that night ... I wouldn't go to a bar with you out of pity. But because I really like you. It's a shame that someone as good as you have to be in a wheelchair. But that doesn't make you worth less. Just the opposite. You are great, you have been with me for almost six hours. Most of the people I meet didn’t accomplished that without wanting to kill me.”

Charles giggled like a teenager and leaned into Erik's embrace. He noticed how both his and Erik's world slipped more and more. "Are you flirting with me, Mr. Lehnsherr?"

Erik smiled at him lovingly. "Maybe?"

After that everything became very blurry. Charles only felt Erik kiss him passionately. He tasted alcohol, iron and some tobacco. Uncoordinated hands were all over his body and Charles was afraid that they would make out drunk and high in public when he noticed that they were back at the hotel. He didn't know how they got back there. Erik heaved Charles as best he could from the wheelchair into a bed. It must have been Charles’s room, because he recognized the sleeping pills on the bedside table. But with an attractive man on top of him, he couldn't think of ending life when it felt so incredibly good right now.


	3. Today

Charles tried to open his eyes, but they stuck together in some places. He started rubbing on them somewhat uncoordinated until some grift had loosened. When he finally saw something, he looked into the hotel room. The sun beamed in happily, indicating that it was now mid-day. Charles’s head hurt and he was sick. He wanted to go to the bathroom when he didn't see a wheelchair by his bed. A little panicked, he looked around and saw it at the end of the room.

And then it dawned on him.

With a glance to the side he finally saw Erik, who was curled up under the blanket next to him. He sighted quietly a few times until he opened his eyes.

"Charles," he said very sleepily, rubbing his face a few times. He groaned wearily again. He also seemed to have a hangover.

"Good morning," whispered Charles, trying to smile. He quickly felt his legs under the covers if he was still wearing pants. In fact, he was still wearing his trousers. Only the belt was gone.

It took a few moments for Erik to wake up. He sat up a little, leaning against the bed frame. "What a night ...," he grumbled, looking exhaustedly into the room. "My leg really hurts..."

"Oh shit," Charles said. "Fuck, your leg! I totally forgot. Show me, is it very bad?"

Erik shook his head immediately, but still knocked the blanket away. "It's okay. It's like a deep cut I would say ..."

Erik also still wore his pants. Charles suspected that they had fallen asleep before they could have done anything sexual.

He carefully pulled apart the hole in his pants that was created by the bullet so that Charles could see the deep cut. The bloody paper towels had already slipped and were probably scattered somewhere in the hotel room or on the way there.

"You should go to the doctor with a wound like this, Erik," Charles murmured softly, examining the wound. "Not that it catches fire."

"Yeah ..." he sighed softly and pulled the trouser hole shut again. "But I'm going to take a shower first. And then I go to the hospital."

Charles nodded completely in thought of last night that he didn't realize what Erik was willing to do until seconds later. With big blue eyes, he looked at his friend. "Are you going to the hospital? Really?"

Erik returned the eye contact and looked at Charles calmly. He didn't make a face, just nodded silently.

"No bathtub?" He breathed hopefully and began to smile carefully.

"No bathtub. The wound is already healing, so it's probably not enough to bleed out anymore,” came the obligatory cynical joke as he ran his palm over his leg.

"Erik ..." Charles warned softly and put his hand carefully on Erik’s. After everything that happened, he was allowed to do that, right? "Please rethink your decision. Whatever you are so sad about, I'm sure ... that you will find something again that is worth living for."

His friend looked briefly at Charles’s hand until he slowly joined them together. His fingers slowly encircled Charles’s. "It is easier said than done when the one thing I recently found worth living for has also a dying wish."

Charles breath immediately got stuck in his throat. That was probably the most romantic and at the same time the saddest thing anyone had ever said to him.

Erik carefully stroked the back of his hand with his thumb. "Everything I ever loved died." He looked sadly into the sun-drenched room. Eventually to Charles. His eyes began to shine and his lids turned red. "Starting with my father. He died when I was very young in a car accident. My mother was very sad but did her best. But she too”, his voice broke for the first time. Charles tightened the pressure around Erik's hand. "She died when I was ten because a madman had raced into a café. Drunk and drugged. She died in the ambulance."

"This is terrible," whispered Charles, not taking his eyes off Erik. He struggled with tears like a man who had trained himself over the years not to show any weaknesses.

"I came to an orphanage. It was okay, I met some nice kids there. At 18 I was left with nothing, but I did my best. Nonetheless whenever I started something, fate said I didn't deserve it and smashed it. I started a job: my boss hated me. I started a new hobby: I broke my leg immediately. I found new friends: they left me for other friends a short time later. Everything was a constant downward spiral. But I still gave my best, you know? For mum."

Charles had to press his lips together to avoid crying himself. He had thought Erik was a broken man, but not like that.

“And then suddenly I met a woman who loved me from the first moment. I told her about my life and she did everything in her power to make me happy. Like you, you know. She didn't give up no matter how stubborn I was.” Erik smiled briefly and looked into Charles’s eyes. "To be honest, you even look a little bit alike."

That made Charles smile too. "I don't have a biological sister. I can assure you of that."

"She came from Poland. That would have been strange if you were related,” joked Erik, but his mood immediately darkened. "She was all I had. Magda."

Charles guessed where the story was going.

“We got married and lived happily together for two years. Then she was pregnant. I was so afraid of becoming a dad, you can’t imagine,” Erik smiled sadly. "But when my little Nina was born - I couldn't have been happier. And I thought to myself: if I had to pay the price for this happiness all these years, it was worth it. All the terrible circumstances for Magda and Nina? I wouldn't have exchanged them for anything in the world."

Then the first tear rolled down Erik's cheek. Charles - empathetic as he was - immediately cried as well. The inevitable end of the story was approaching.

"And then I had to go to Berlin because of my job," breathed Erik softly, as if he didn't want to say the following words. “I was busy having drinks with colleagues in the evening and could therefore only call Magda on the phone very quickly. Nina was six at the time. She said good night to me speedily and then went to bed. Magda also wished me a good night. I still remember her voice. As always, full of affection and love. But I was busy and just wanted to start the day off. So I said goodbye in a hurry and finally went to the bar. The call came shortly before midnight.”

Charles could not help it and took Erik's hand in his lap to enclose it with his other hand as well. Erik avoided eye contact. He just stared at the bedspread.

"A fire," he said, but his voice broke away. “Supposedly a gas leak. But later it came out that a few radicals simply wanted to make an example, since the rental house in which we lived probably belonged to an investor. I still don't know exactly why the fire was started. But the official statement – that there was a gas leak – just wasn't the truth."

Finally Erik looked up and blinked silent tears from his eyes. "They burned to death. The fire department could only save a couple. They had lost their child too. Two older people also died that evening. And my Magda. With Nina. Police reported that both bodies were found intertwined in Nina's child’s room. The fire had probably already entered the hallway and they had no chance of escaping. They couldn’t jump from the fifth floor. The only consolation the chief of police could give me ...," and then he swallowed a big lump, "was that both were passed out by the smoke before they burned. They had previously suffocated or fallen asleep. He certainly just wanted to make the situation easier for me, but I am convinced that they suffered. That night was the most horrible night I’ve ever encountered."

He sobbed briefly so that Charles could not help but hug him. Together they cried a few tears until Erik slowly loosened up.

“Everything I ever loved was taken from me. I tried it, Charles, I really tried. Even after Magda's and Nina's death, I never gave up and continued. I wanted to be strong because it would have been her wish. But ... I just can't do it anymore. I'm so exhausted…,” Erik whispered and ran a hand over his face. With the other he looked for Charles’s again.

"You are such a strong man, Erik," Charles finally said in a shaky voice, trying to sound as hopeful as possible. "I have hardly seen a stronger one. Mentally and physically."

"Not really ...", Erik contradicted and pressed his lips together.

Charles smiled timidly. "If I had been in your shoes ... God, I would have given up much sooner."

Erik looked for Charles’s eyes and seemed to calm down a bit. "So you support my wish?"

"No, absolutely not."

"Then why do you say something like that?"

Charles had to giggle softly. “It's called empathy. I want you to know how terrible I find your life story and I wouldn't wish anyone in the world such a course. But at the same time, I want to tell you how proud I am of you that you have held out so long. And I want you to keep going. Life may have been so terrible to you so far, but you fought it as if it were a group of five dodgy guys who wanted to get my watch.”

Erik laughed softly. A last tear flowed down his cheek. Even Charles only hiccupped once more.

"No matter how hopeless it looks - you can manage it. Two weapons are aimed at you? No problem, you assert yourself anyway!"

"Well, I got shot ... I had probably more luck than brains."

"Definitely. Please never be so careless again."

Erik nodded silently and pressed his lips together. Charles leaned a little closer to him and stroked his cheek.

"Promise me you will take care of yourself. You're worth it. There is happiness in this world for you."

"Yeah... After that night, I think that might be possible. "

Then he leaned forward and kissed Charles gently on the lips. The gesture came as a surprise, so Charles did nothing more than hold still. Because as quickly as the kiss came, it stopped as quickly.

“For the first time tonight, my will to follow my family has moved into the background. Nobody worried about me like you for a long time. Thanks for that, Charles.”

"Like me, there are probably a lot of other people who care about you," said Charles, smiling. He tried not to blush as much as possible, but Erik's big eyes, the honest words, and the pressure around his hand that Erik had in his again made Charles cheeks coloured.

"Maybe. But nobody will ever be like you."

That made Charles’s smile bigger. Erik, on the other hand, got a little more serious.

"I asked you to leave me alone for 15 minutes. Now we both survived the night. And it feels like we're going to survive a few more nights,” Erik began, but Charles felt an uncomfortable pressure build in his heart. "I am ready to delay my 15 minutes any further. To give the whole thing another chance. Thanks to you."

Charles just nodded silently and tried to keep his smile alive. Erik was probably interpreting his silence correctly.

"Tell me that you changed your mind too."

"I thought you didn't want to convince me ...?" Charles breathed and felt his voice slowly break away.

"Cut the bullshit, Charles. I know what I said. But it's about your life now. And I don't want it to end here. In this haunted hotel after this ... this wonderful night."

"Erik, you were shot and I don't even remember the last few hours, so I'm not sure if we should call it a good night. After all we were intoxicated for most of the hours and I surely can’t go on drinking and smoking weed for the rest of my life," Charles started talking at breath-taking speed as Erik just kissed him again. Fast and a bit uncoordinated. But extremely efficient. Charles immediately stopped talking.

"It was a wonderful night," Erik said. "Didn't it leave a lasting impression on you?" Suddenly his eyes grew very cloudy and the sheen of life became less. "Didn't you enjoy it? Couldn't you recharge your batteries? Even if we are now tired and exhausted, I feel more alive than ever. Don’t you have the same feeling…?"

Charles felt his eyes get wet. He didn't let go of Erik's hand. "Of course! _Yes_ , Erik, it was one of the best nights I've ever had! But don't you understand? This,” he gestured to his numb legs, “will not go away! I will continue to stunt until at some point I am just lying in a bed and I have to be fed. The attacks are getting stronger and I cannot assess them. I am not only a burden for others, but this disease is also a burden for me. I am not as strong as you and can go on. It pulls me down that at some point I will be completely paralyzed. Or go blind. Or whatever will happen. Nobody can really say that. It is the disease with a thousand faces. Erik, I don't want that."

Erik listened and sighted a few times until his eyes narrowed as if the truth was causing him pain. "I understand that. But I can’t accept it. At least give the whole thing a little more time. Maybe a few more months? A few years? You are still fit. Shit, you almost drank me under the table."

Charles laughed sadly and wiped his face. "Long-time alcoholic. I have practice."

"Yeah ... same," whispered Erik. "But you are so much stronger than you think."

"I have an expiration date."

"We all have. My decision to put off the 15 minutes doesn't mean that I no longer have it in my head. One night doesn't heal a man. Neither psychologically nor physically."

Charles swallowed several times, but his throat remained dry and laced. He was thinking about his future. About the fact that he might still see Raven's child. How a family would be founded. How his school developed. And maybe see some friends coming and going. As he slowly lost his senses. And maybe himself.

"I can't, Erik," he finally breathed, looking deeply into his friend's eyes. “Even if I give myself another year or two, I don't know what will be then. Maybe I'm already paralyzed on one side after such a short time. Finding a worthy end while I am basically completely dependent on others ... is not a worthy end."

Erik, who had become extremely quiet, simply returned the eye contact. He ran his thumb several times over Charles’s. Finally he raised their hands and kissed the back of Charles’s hand. "I am not as good as you in convincing others. It is difficult for me to remain convinced myself."

"And that's okay. As long as the energy is enough for you."

"You will always be a part of me, Charles. That night and that stupid coincidence that we both met felt like fate and I was always the last one to believe in that. I really wish very much… you wouldn’t join the ranks of loved ones who left me.”

Charles bit his lip. "It almost sounds like you’re emotionally blackmailing me."

"If it works?"

Oh, how he would have liked to nod. Exchange numbers with Erik and maybe visit him here and there. Maybe it would have turned into more? But the reality was different: the first few months would have kept them in contact, then Charles would have had to spend more time in the hospital than on the plane. After all, he wouldn't be able to travel without Raven or an accompanying person. At some point Erik would not feel like it makes sense anymore to keep the friendship up. After all, he would have a half-dead friend on his cheek. Eventually he would leave. And Charles could have saved himself from suffering from the very beginning.

"I can't," breathed Charles again, slowly pulling his hand out of Erik’s. "But believe me that you are the best thing that has happened to me in so many years. And for that I am eternally grateful. That I can leave with such wonderful thoughts."

"Oh, Charles," whimpered Erik, reaching for Charles again. He squeezed his knuckles and shook his head several times. "I can only ask you to reconsider. Please don't do it. I cannot believe that I am asking a man who has been a stranger to me so hard to keep alive, when I have never cared about people at all."

"Thanks, Erik," whispered Charles, trying to smile. "Thank you for everything."

Erik's eyes frantically looked for Charles’s. Suddenly resignation came. The air suddenly relaxed. And Erik realized that there was nothing he could do but accept Charles’s decision. Finally he let go and got up carefully from the bed. Without a word he collected his shirt and put it on. Slowly followed his shoes and finally his leather jacket. He limped to the desk at the far end of the room and scribbled something on the hotel's block. Eventually he tore off the sheet and came back to bed. Charles had just stayed in bed. He wouldn't have gone far anyway - his wheelchair was still near the door.

Erik sat down on the edge of the bed again and handed the note to Charles. There was a phone number and an address on it. From Germany.

"Should you change your mind ... come to me," Erik said softly. "I don't care that you are in a wheelchair. We can make it work. Together. And you can stay as long as you want."

Charles’s hands trembled as they held the note. He just nodded and pressed his lips together so as not to burst into tears on the spot.

Erik mimicked the nod and looked into Charles’s eyes one last time. "Should you stick with it ... at least call your sister. She deserved a farewell, don't you think? I know this is difficult, but God, Charles. What would I have given to be able to say goodbye to my family?”

Everything suddenly seemed so surreal. Erik, sitting there, holding Charles’s hand and advising him to say goodbye to his sister.

"Okay," was all Charles got out of his dry neck.

Erik nodded one last time and stood up. He finally let go of Charles’s hand. Before he turned around, he leaned down again and kissed Charles’s forehead.

"See you soon, Charles," he said, blinking a tear from his eye. Then he left the bed. He took the wheelchair and rolled it next to Charles. After that, he went to the door.

It opened and closed.

Charles knew that Erik was not far away. He would go to his room now and pack his things. Check out at the reception below and hopefully immediately take a taxi to the hospital. His wound would be sewn there. Then he would drive to the airport and book a flight back to Germany. And then continue his life. As best he could.

Charles’s heart broke.

After an hour it still hurt.

Tears still flowed after two hours.

After the third hour, Charles fell asleep.

After the sixth there was a knock on the door and the maid wanted to make the room. Charles thanked sleepily and sent her away. Then he fell asleep again.

After the tenth hour he woke up and still saw the slightly crumpled note in his hand. His tears had blurred the writing. Panicked, Charles unfolded the note and checked whether the writing could still be read.

After the eleventh hour the sun was slowly setting. His cell phone had vibrated several times since then. Raven was worried. He hadn't contacted her in over 24 hours.

After the twelfth hour he finally picked up the phone and dialled her number. As he heard the dial tone, he stared at the sleeping pills. Erik's note in his lap.

"Charles? God, Charles, where are you? Are you all right?” Came Raven's voice in panic.

Charles had to swallow a big lump.

"I am fine. A bit exhausted."

"Exhausted? Have you had an attack? Where are you? You were not at home and did not answer your cell phone! I was afraid you were dead somewhere in the corner - God, Charles!“ She shouted into the phone and cried bitterly.

Everything she said made Charles’s stomach hurt. Erik's words suddenly had so much more weight.

"I'm sorry ... you know, I'm in Paris. Do you remember? Where I had the internship back then?"

"You're in Paris?!" she cried angrily. "Charles! Why don't you say anything? We could have travelled together! It’s too dangerous to be on your own!"

"I wanted to be alone," he admitted, swallowing several times. But the pressure did not go away. "You know I love you, Raven. You’re everything for me. You are a wonderful being and I appreciate you so much."

"Oh, I love you too, Charles ..." Suddenly she sounded extremely insecure.

"I want you to know that I wish you all the luck in the world. And Hank. And your upcoming child."

"Oh god, why are you saying this? Charles, where are you exactly? I'm coming to get you. With the jet, yes? Hank and I can pick you up in a few hours. If you tell us where you are in Paris, we'll be right there. Don’t make me search for your phone via GPS."

"Not necessary. I have no plans to come home. I'm sorry, Raven,” breathed Charles, staring at the sleeping pills. Then on Erik's note.

Raven was suddenly silent on the other end of the line. "You don’t want to come home? Oh god, I knew this would happen. You were so different in the last weeks. The therapist was right. Fuck, please don't ... Charles ..."

As soon as he heard his sister cry in despair, Charles knew he should just tell her.

Charles felt everything suddenly unravel. As if by magic. As if a curse had been released from him. The decision hadn't been an easy one, but he was glad he had made it. It felt right - so insanely right.

"Don’t worry, my dear. I won’t come home, but you can come and see me in Germany in a few days. There is someone I would like to introduce to you, Raven."


End file.
